


Postcards from the Void

by terriblelifechoices



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-10-19 10:47:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10638279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terriblelifechoices/pseuds/terriblelifechoices
Summary: Tumblr prompt fills for Fantastic Beasts.  Pairings will be listed in the chapter headings.





	1. Gradence - Let's Give Them Something Worth Looking At

**Author's Note:**

> I suspect I owe you guys a blanket apology for chapter 4 of Whatever Remains, However Improbable. So here, have some prompt fills!
> 
> For the ["Send me two characters and a prompt and I'll write you a short fic" meme on tumblr.](https://terriblelifechoices.tumblr.com/post/158793221121/send-me-two-characters-or-more-and-a-prompt-and) Prompts are still open! 
> 
> Chapter 1 is for the amazing [LourdesDeath](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LourdesDeath/pseuds/LourdesDeath) for the prompts "That was the perfect example of what _not_ to do" and "I didn't intend to kiss you."

Graves hated MACUSA’s annual masquerade ball. It was an absolute nightmare to coordinate security for the ball, because half his staff put in for time off to attend it and only a quarter of them got it, which put anyone who hadn’t in a snit, and the other half hated the ball as much as Graves did. Graves had given up on trying to make everyone happy about thirty minutes into coordinating security for the first time; he’d instituted a lottery for the ball’s attendee’s, with the stipulation that no one who had attended the ball in the previous year was allowed to enter, and bribed everyone else with time and a half pay. No one was entirely happy with how things turned out, but it kept things from escalating into department wide vendettas. 

He looked out over the sea of dancers, tracking the exits and checking for spots of trouble. Sooner or later, some drunk idiot was going to decide that wearing a mask made them anonymous. Graves had no idea why anyone thought that wearing a mask gave them license to do whatever they pleased, but it happened every damn year with depressing frequency.

“You’re not actually supposed to be working right now,” Seraphina said, handing him a glass of Samhain wine. 

“I’m not working,” Graves told her. “I am attending the ball, like you ordered me to.” He was still contemplating the appropriate revenge for that. 

Seraphina knew it, too. 

“I’m wearing a mask and everything,” Graves continued, gesturing to the black domino mask he was wearing as a concession to the evening.

“Really,” she said flatly. “Because it looks an awful lot like you’re working. You’re dressed for work, and you’re watching the ball from high ground, checking for trouble and brooding over how much you hate this event, which is what you do when you’re working the ball and not attending it.”

Graves couldn’t argue with that, seeing as it was exactly what he’d been doing. “You’re going to order me to go mingle, aren’t you?” he asked, resigned to his fate.

“I’m going to order you to mingle,” Seraphina confirmed. “Go. Mingle. Find someone to dance with. Try not to make too much of an ass of yourself.”

“You’re a petty tyrant, Seraphina,” Graves said, draining his glass of wine. “Remind me to start a coup Monday morning.”

“I’ll pencil it in,” Seraphina deadpanned.

Graves shot a stinging hex at her just to be petty. He sidestepped her return volley -- Seraphina always favored a jellylegs jinx -- inadvertently putting one of the other party-goers in the line of spell fire. 

“Oh, shit,” said Graves, moving to catch the other wizard. 

The wizard Seraphina had accidentally hexed was tall and slender, hardly any weight in Graves’ arms at all. He was wearing a half-face black cat mask to match the feline tilt to his eyes, and dressed head to toe in black to complete the illusion. The only spot of color on him was the jingling silver bell at his throat, which chimed as he fell over.

Graves banished the jinx with a wave of his hand. “Sorry,” he said, setting the other wizard on his feet again. 

“It’s alright,” the other wizard told him. His voice was young and naggingly familiar. “How did you do that? I thought you needed a wand to do magic.”

Graves frowned at him. His talent for wandless magic was widely known, and MACUSA’s elite knew who he was. Who was this boy? And why was his voice so familiar?

“Are you alright, Credence?” Seraphina asked.

Graves abruptly realized who he was. Credence Barebone, the No-Maj Goldstein had almost gotten herself fired over. The No-Maj who turned out to be a wizard after all, the only Obscurial on record who’d survived past the age of ten. He and his youngest sister were Seraphina’s pet project, the literal poster children for better screening for No-Maj born wizards and an end to Rappaport’s law. Graves had to admit, the Barebone siblings were the perfect poster children. Credence was young and gorgeous, all artfully tousled dark hair and high cheekbones. His mouth was full and plush, an invitation to sin. His sister was blonde and waif-like, peering out at the world with big blue eyes. You’d have to be a complete bastard to dismiss either one of them, or what they’d gone through.

“I’m fine, ma’am,” Credence said to Seraphina. “He kept me from falling over. Thank you, sir,” he added politely.

“It was my fault to begin with,” Graves said gruffly. “It was the least I could do.”

“That’s Graves for ‘you’re welcome,’” Seraphina told Credence. “Ignore him, he’s being cranky because he didn’t want to come to the ball.”

“I am not _cranky,”_ Graves said. “You make me sound like a toddler up past his bedtime.”

“Did I? I was trying to make you sound like a cranky old man with no sense of fun.”

“I know how to have fun,” Graves said, well aware of the fact that Seraphina was goading him. “I’ll prove it to you. Dance with me, Barebone.”

Credence made a frightened squeaking noise.

“Percival,” Seraphina said, exasperated. “That was a perfect example of how _not_ to ask someone to dance. Don’t make me tell Grandmama you need a refresher course in manners.”

“Please don’t,” Graves said immediately. Seraphina had asked him to escort her to her coming out ball, what felt like a lifetime ago. She’d wanted to thwart any potential matchmaking mamas, and showing up at her own ball on the arm of a boy who wasn’t a blood relation would make everyone think she already had a beau. Grandmama Genevieve had figured out Seraphina’s plan pretty quick. She’d also declared that no damn Yankee boy was going to disgrace her halls with bad manners, and Graves had spent two terrifying weeks before Seraphina’s cotillion getting a crash course in Southern gentility. 

He bowed politely to Credence, careful to use the exact degree he’d been taught. (Bowing too deeply made you look sloppy and rag-mannered; bowing too lightly made you look cheeky. Neither was a good thing, as far as Grandmama Genevieve was concerned.) “Mr. Barebone, would you do me the very great honor of dancing with me?” he asked.

“Oh,” said Credence. “Is that a thing wizards do?” he asked Seraphina. “Is it alright for men to dance with other men?”

“It’s not common,” Seraphina said. “But it’s hardly illegal.”

“What about your cause?” Credence asked. “I don’t want to undo any of your hard work.”

Graves had heard that the Barebone boy was smart -- Goldstein and Goldstein the Younger had been tasked as the Barebone siblings minders, and Goldstein was justifiably proud of the boy -- but this was the first time he’d ever seen that intelligence in action. The polite thing to do would have been to accept Graves’ offer, not check for political ramifications.

He liked Credence better for it. He wished more of his junior Aurors would stop to think things through, rather than jumping headfirst into trouble.

“Percival is the Head of Magical Law Enforcement,” Seraphina said. “If people see him dancing with you, they’ll think that he supports our cause.”

“I _do_ support your cause, as it so happens,” Graves pointed out.

Credence’s plush lips curved into a warm grin beneath his half mask. “Thank you,” he said to Graves. “I’d be delighted.”

“Do you always stop to check the political ramifications before you dance with someone?” Graves inquired as he escorted Credence to the dance floor.

“Image is important,” Credence said. “No one looked at me, when I was a No-Maj, because I didn’t look like someone worth looking at. No one _saw_ me, not really, except for Miss Tina. Now all of MACUSA’s looking at me, and I need to look like someone worthy of their respect or they’re never going to give me the time of day. I can’t afford to be careless.”

Graves startled, because he knew exactly how that felt. He was a Graves, in addition to being Seraphina’s right hand man. The Director of Magical Security and Head of Magical Law Enforcement, with all the expectations those positions entailed. He couldn’t afford to be careless, either. Not with the whole world watching, waiting for him to slip up.

“Me neither,” he confided. He held his hand out to Credence. “Shall we give them something worth looking at?”

“Yes,” Credence said, slipping a strangely scarred palm into Graves’ own.

There was a briefly awkward moment as both of them stepped forward to lead. Credence laughed, the sound bright and sparkling, and yielded so sweetly that Graves went dry-mouthed against the sudden surge of desire.

He shook his head to clear it. It had been too long since he’d bedded anyone, if he was thinking such thoughts about Credence. Credence was the same age as his junior Aurors, and Graves never had lustful thoughts about _them._ It would have been an abuse of power.

Credence, Graves thought, had a taste for power, if his awareness of political maneuvering was any indicator.

He spun Credence around the dance floor, smiling at Credence’s open delight. He liked dancing; he always had, and Credence was the perfect partner. Credence laughed when Graves tilted him back into an elaborate dip, the bell at his throat jingling merrily in agreement.

The music changed, shifting from a stately waltz into something more energetic. The brass section of the orchestra took over, piping out a lively swing tune.

“May I?” Graves asked. He was, against all expectations, having a good time. He didn’t want to stop dancing just yet.

“Yes,” Credence said, giving Graves his hand again. 

Graves waited, just for a second, finding the beat of the music and letting it sink into his bones. He let his hips go loose and relaxed as he pulled Credence into the beat, feet tapping quickly as he went. Credence gripped his hand and leaned back, letting the centrifugal force balance them both as they spun. The other dancers gave them room to really move, and someone -- Graves suspected Hughes -- catcalled, “Go get him, boss!”

“Trust me?” he asked.

Credence considered that for a long second, and then he nodded.

“Let’s show off a little,” Graves said, stepping just a little in front of Credence and using momentum to swing Credence around his hip and into his arms. Credence gave a shriek of laughter as Graves somersaulted him over his arm and back onto his feet, landing like the cat he was pretending to be. 

“Okay,” Credence said, breathless with exertion. “I think we’ve shown off enough.” 

“Probably,” Graves agreed. There was a photographer from the _New York Ghost_ in the crowd. He was willing to bet that a photo of him dancing with Credence would make it above the fold in the society pages of tomorrow’s edition. “Drink?”

“Yes, please,” said Credence. “I didn’t know you could dance,” he said. “You always seem so stern, whenever I see you at the Woolworth building.”

Graves shrugged. “People expect the Head of MLE to look stern,” he said. “It’s like you said: image is important. People want their authority figures to look controlled and commanding.”

“It’s not just image with you, though, is it? You actually _are_ that controlled and commanding. It’s not just an image you project to make people listen to you.”

“Is that what you think you do?” Graves asked, curious. He’d heard Credence speak before; the younger man was articulate and clever. It had to be more than just image with him, too.

“It _is_ what I do,” Credence corrected. “You don’t know what it’s like, Mr. Graves. You’ve always had magic, you grew up in this world. Me? I spend every day terrified that this is going to be the day that someone tells me it was a lie, that I don’t really belong here after all.”

“You belong here,” Graves said firmly. “This is your world now, and no one can take it from you.”

“You don’t even know me,” Credence pointed out. “How can you sound so certain?”

“I’ve got an eye for talent,” Graves said. “So does Seraphina. I’d poach you from her, if I didn’t think she’d kill me for it. You’ve had, what, six months to get used to our world? And you’ve already adapted to it -- you’re already making changes. You’ve clearly got a brilliant career in politics ahead of you.”

“Oh,” said Credence, blushing beneath his mask. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“I am not kind,” Graves protested. “I’m an Auror. We don’t do nice. It’s the truth, that’s all.”

_“I_ think you’re kind,” Credence said, darting in to press a quick kiss to Graves’ cheek. He realized what he’d done a second later and went tomato colored. “Oh, God, I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s alright,” Graves said, checking for photographers. The last thing Credence needed was to be embroiled in a scandal. “I didn’t mind.”

Credence blinked. “You don’t?”

“You’re gorgeous and clever and articulate,” Graves said. “Why the hell would I mind?”

“Oh,” Credence said again. “I didn’t intend to kiss you, Mr. Graves. But I think I want to?”

Seraphina was going to murder him for this.

“Let me take you on a proper date,” Graves said. “And then you can decided if you really want to kiss me or not.”

Credence beamed at him. “I’d like that,” he said.


	2. Gradence - Revenge is a Dish best left Unserved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crossposting tumblr fic! This is from the [Send Me Two Characters Prompt Meme.](https://terriblelifechoices.tumblr.com/post/158793221121/send-me-two-characters-or-more-and-a-prompt-and) Feel free to leave me a prompt if you'd like, I am trying to be better about being more active on tumblr.
> 
> For the magnificent [Truetomorrow,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Truetomorrow/pseuds/Truetomorrow) this is a direct follow up to Chapter 1, for the prompt 43. "Why are you whispering" The original version can be found on tumblr [here.](https://terriblelifechoices.tumblr.com/post/158899228976/43-why-are-youwe-whispering-with-drumroll)

Credence did, in fact, decide that he wanted to kiss Mr. Graves. He wanted that very much. He wasn’t quite sure how to articulate that to Mr. Graves, though -- he wanted to verbally communicate it, rather than just attacking the older man with another clumsy, unpracticed kiss. He’d figure it out sooner or later. Or Miss Queenie would figure it out for him and give him a book that would answer all the questions that Credence was too embarrassed to ask out loud.

Credence had no idea why people found Miss Queenie’s legilimency unnerving. Queenie Goldstein was a godsend when it came to things like this.

“Aw, thanks honey,” Miss Queenie said, beaming at him.

Credence smiled back and wondered if there was a book that would help.

“You don’t need a book,” said Miss Queenie. “Just be direct. He’ll appreciate that.

Credence wasn’t as sure about that as Miss Queenie was.

“Trust me,” Miss Queenie said.

Credence did.

He’d have felt better if there was a book he could consult, though.

Miss Queenie laughed at him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Miss Tina and Modesty were both watching him, wearing matching expressions of puzzled suspicion.

Credence had expected Modesty to bond with Miss Queenie, who was warm and sweet and nurturing, but Modesty had imprinted on Miss Tina like a baby duck instead. It made sense, in retrospect. Miss Tina had saved them both from Ma -- she was a hero, a real one, someone Modesty could look up to. And they really were a lot alike. Modesty and Miss Tina were both prickly, suspicious souls who were slow to trust and unwaveringly loyal once that trust had been given.

“Do we want to know?” Miss Tina asked.

“Probably not,” Miss Queenie said cheerfully.

“Is it illegal?” asked Modesty, who wanted to be an Auror just like Miss Tina when she grew up.

“No,” Credence said. President Picquery said that it wasn’t, and she was pretty much the highest authority on anything that MACUSA had. Credence trusted President Picquery’s word.

“Alright,” Modesty said, turning her attention back to Miss Tina.

Credence resolved to be direct with Mr. Graves the next chance he got.

He wasn’t expecting Mr. Graves himself to be the one to thwart that particular plan.

Mr. Graves’ team looked gleeful and anticipatory, for some reason, but then they usually did when Credence stopped by. Today, though, their glee had a manic, watchful edge to it that made the hairs on the back of Credence’s neck prickle with unease.

“Is Mr. Graves in?” he asked. Mr. Graves could usually be found in his office around now, but Credence couldn’t see light coming from underneath the door.

“Oh yes,” said Hughes, who flat out refused to let him call her Miss Hughes, as was polite. (“Call me Miss Hughes again and I’ll hex your eyebrows off,” she’d told him.)

“Okay,” said Credence, his sense of unease growing stronger. “Mr. Graves?” he asked, knocking on the door to Mr. Graves’ office.

“Shh!” hissed Mr. Graves, opening the door and dragging Credence into the office. He closed it behind them firmly. “Keep your voice down,” he whispered.

“Why are we whispering?” Credence whispered back.

“Seraphina’s on the warpath,” Mr. Graves explained. “I tinsel bombed her office, and then Newt’s damn niffler got loose again and …” 

“Oh,” said Credence. He’d met that niffler. It was cute, in a larcenous sort of way. Modesty kept trying to perform a citizen’s arrest on it. Credence had worried that it would offend Newt, who had come all the way from England to help Credence deal with his obscurus, but Newt found the whole thing hilarious instead.

Mr. Graves shrugged. “The tinsel’s gone, at least. Along with Seraphina’s earrings, her favorite pen and her wand.”

“Oh,” Credence said again. “Oh no.” He took a prudent couple of steps away from Mr. Graves. He’d already gotten caught in the crossfire between Madam President and Mr. Graves once before, and they’d only been playing, then. He had no desire to find out what would happen if he got caught between them if President Picquery was out for blood.

“Why did you tinsel bomb the president’s office?” he demanded, horrified.

“Revenge,” said Mr. Graves. “For making me go to the ball. It’s tradition, Credence.”

Credence stared at him in dismay. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I don’t think I want to kiss you after all.”

“Ouch,” said Mr. Graves. Then what Credence had said sank in. “Wait, you _changed_ your mind? Does that mean you’ve made a decision about kissing me?”

Credence was saved from having to answer that by President Picquery herself. She’d gotten her wand back, at least, and she used it to hex Mr. Graves’ office door off its hinges.

“You’re a dead man, Percival,” she said.

“Oh, shit,” said Mr. Graves.

Credence fled the office to go hide behind the rest of Mr. Graves’ team. Mr. Graves had brought this on himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I super wanted to have Graves glitterbomb Seraphina's office. But apparently glitter as we know it wasn't invented until 1934, while tinsel has been around since 1610.


	3. Gradence - Tortall AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the delightful [not-wisely](http://archiveofourown.org/users/notwisely) and the [Send Me Two Characters Prompt Meme](https://terriblelifechoices.tumblr.com/post/158793221121/send-me-two-characters-or-more-and-a-prompt-and) The prompt was "You're suppose to talk me out of this."
> 
> I noticed that [not-wisely](http://archiveofourown.org/users/notwisely) was a fellow Tortall fan, and couldn't resist the urge to write a Tortall AU. The original version is on tumblr [here.](https://terriblelifechoices.tumblr.com/post/158914776346/omg-yes-credencepercival-14-youre-supposed-to)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're unfamiliar with the Tortall 'verse, all you need to know is that it’s vaguely medieval fantasy, in which noble (male) children are sent to the Palace at the age of ten for training to become knights of the realm. They spend four years as a page, learning etiquette, math and how to fight with a number of weapons, and then they spend four years squiring for a specific knight, who is supposed to give them hand’s on experience in not getting killed.
> 
> Some people have Gifts, which is a more regimented style of magic not entirely dissimilar to the HP-verse, minus the wands, and some people have Wild Magic, which tends to manifest as whatever the hell it wants.
> 
> There are five series in the Tortall 'verse, starting with _Alanna, the First Adventure_ by Tamora Pierce. I totally recommend checking out the source material. The early books are a little problematic, because they were written in the 1980's, but they get so much better over time.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” said Credence, still feeling a little numb with horror. He’d challenged a Scanran warlord to a duel. Him! Credence Barebone!

“I think this might be the dumbest thing you’re ever going to do in your entire life,” Alex told him, checking Credence’s armor. Alex Collins was closer to his knighthood than Credence was, but he’d always been a mother hen.

“True,” Credence agreed. “Because Warlord Grindelwald is going to _kill me.”_

“Grindelwald isn’t going to kill you,” Percival said firmly. “You’re _my_ squire, remember? I trained you better than that. It’s going to take more than some warmongering Scanran upstart to kill you.”

“Oh, gods,” said Credence, looking at his knight master with flat despair. “You should have bedded me when I asked you to. I’m going to die a virgin.”

Percival went red and spluttered, stomping away from Credence and Alex and muttering about how Credence was going to be the death of him.

Some days, it was really hard to believe that Percival was the Queen’s Champion -- the best knight in all of Tortall.

“Still no luck?” Alex asked.

“No,” Credence said. “He’s got too much bloody honor to bed me while I’m his squire. It’d be an abuse of power. How about you?” Alex was sweet on one of Queen Seraphina’s handmaidens. Credence was only a little bit jealous that Alex’s courtship of Dorothy seemed to be going better than his own.

“I’m going to ask her to marry me, once I have my shield,” Alex told him.

Fine. Credence was more than a little jealous, now.

Dorothy appeared in the doorway, as if mentioning her was enough to summon her. “Credence Barebone!” she said furiously. “What did you _do?”_

Credence hunched his shoulders. He had almost a foot in height on Dorothy, not to mention quite a lot of muscle mass and training. She shouldn’t have been able to put the fear of the Goddess in him, but she really, really did.

“He challenged Warlord Grindelwald to a duel,” Percival said, when it became clear that neither Credence nor Alex was going to fess up and risk the wrath of Dorothy.

“You _what?”_ demanded Dorothy. She smacked him with her project bag. Since Dorothy’s project bag usually contained at least two knitting projects, her sewing kit, and a half-completed bit of embroidery, getting smacked with it was like getting hit with a very squishy mace, or possibly a porcupine. A bit soft, a little heavy and full of unexpected pointy bits.

“You didn’t hear the things he _said,”_ Credence protested. “He was being awful to the Queen.”

“You idiot,” Dorothy said, reaching up to grab one of Credence’s ears and twisting hard, dragging him down to her eye level. “You think the Queen hasn’t heard anything Warlord Grindelwald might have to say before? She’s an unmarried monarch and a _woman,_ you idiot. She hears that sort of bile all the time, and you don’t see _her_ picking fights now do you?”

“Ow,” said Credence. “Ow, ow, ow. Let go, Dorothy!” He gently pried her fingers off his ear. “I _know_ that. I’ve sat in on too many meetings with Percival not to know that even our own nobles sometimes look at Queen Seraphina like she’s a piece of meat. But Warlord Grindelwald was _worse_ about it. The things he said, about the Queen, about Percival -- he went beyond acceptable rudeness. Queen Seraphina can’t call him out for it, because he came here to propose marriage to her and that would cause a diplomatic incident. Percival can’t either, for the same reason. But me? I’m nobody. Just a squire. _I_ can call Warlord Grindelwald out, and no one will care because everyone will think I’m just a dumb kid.”

“Oh,” Dorothy said, her expression softening. “What did he say?”

Credence set his jaw stubbornly. “I’m not repeating it. It was vulgar and rude.” Just thinking about it made him tremble faintly with rage. He wasn’t sure what he objected to more -- Warlord Grindelwald’s casual assumption that Queen Seraphina was somehow beneath him, when she had royal blood and he had none, or the fact that Warlord Grindelwald assumed that Queen Seraphina and Percival were lovers.

They had been, once, when she was a princess and he was her father’s squire. Everyone knew that. But that was over a decade ago, and they were friends now.

“I don’t care if you keep bedding him, so long as you give me an heir,” Warlord Grindelwald had said. “Frankly, I’d like a go at him myself. He’s a comely looking creature, your Champion.”

That had been when Credence slapped him with his gloves.

“I hope you don’t expect me to fight your _squire,_ Champion,” Warlord Grindelwald had said.

“It’s the honorable thing to do,” Percival had pointed out mildly. “Credence is the one who challenged you, not me.”

Warlord Grindelwald had stared at him. “I’m fairly certain you’re meant to be talking me out of this,” he’d said eventually. “Or do you value the boy’s life so cheaply?”

Percival had smiled at him, all teeth. “On the contrary, I value Credence’s life very dearly indeed. I also have faith in his training.”

“Fine,” said the warlord. “On your head be it, then.”

“If you get killed,” Dorothy said, “I will be very upset with you.”

“Not half as upset as I will be,” said Percival, stepping up to tie one of his handkerchiefs around Credence’s elbow. “If Seraphina gave you a favor, things would get political again,” he said. “You should have something, though,” he added, as though Percival’s favor was some sort of consolation prize.

“I’d rather have yours than hers,” Credence told him.

“Don’t get killed,” Percival told him.

“Is that your advice?” Credence inquired. “Don’t get killed?”

“It’s good advice,” Percival said. “Also, he’s partially blind in his right eye. Use that to your advantage, if you can.”

Credence nodded and stepped into the training yard. They had an audience. Other Scanrans from Warlord Grindelwald’s retinue. The wild mage Newt, who cared for the palace menagerie and spoke to animals as if they were people. Percival’s friend Dame Win, and the newly minted Dame Tina, who had been Dame Win’s squire not long ago. Dame Tina’s sister Queenie, from the kitchens, and her husband Jacob.

“Last chance to back out, boy,” the warlord taunted him.

“I’m no coward,” Credence retorted. “But feel free to back out, if you’d like.”

“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Warlord Grindelwald mused.

“May I remind you, Grindelwald, that your duel will go until one of you yields,” Queen Seraphina interjected coldly.

“Of course,” Grindelwald said, feigning gentility. Lower, so only Credence could hear him, he said, “Death is a form of yielding, after all.”

“Begin!” Queen Seraphina commanded.

Grindelwald attacked first. He was older and more muscular than Credence was, fighting with a heavy broadsword it would be suicide to try and block. The Scanrans favored heavy weaponry, like spears and broadswords and maces. Their fighting style was completely different from the Tortallan one, but Credence had spent the last year on the border fighting bandits with Percival. He knew how to deal with Scanrans.

“Broadswords are great in a melee,” Percival had told him. “Especially if you don’t care about inflicting collateral damage. But they’re shit in close quarters combat. Their length and the fact that they’re unwieldy make them impractical weapons for a knight.”

“The bandits like them well enough,” Credence had pointed out. A broadsword seemed like a decent weapon for a mounted knight.

“Of course they do, they’re idiots. They think the size of the sword is what matters, not to mention the muscles it takes to swing the bloody things. You have to out think the bastards. Get in close, where their range limits their maneuverability. Finish your opponent off quick, and get out of range if you have to.”

Credence sidestepped Grindelwald’s initial strike, moving in close. He meant to draw first blood, just to humiliate Grindelwald, but he hadn’t counted on Grindelwald being so _fast._ He dodged another blow, ducking beneath it the way the Shang Hippogriff had taught him to. He wasn’t as good at tumbling as Theseus was, not in armor, and Grindelwald landed a blow that was going to bruise like hell on his shoulder.

Credence gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to let Grindelwald defeat him. Grindelwald was fast, but he was pretty sure that he was faster. He had the advantage of youth and flexibility on his side.

He ducked in close again, using his sword to parry the broadsword away and managing to knick Grindelwald with his knife. Grindelwald hissed at him.

Credence laughed and did it again, alight with glee. Grindelwald had made himself a warlord by conquering anyone in his path, but he was no match for a proper Tortallan knight.

If he hadn’t been so out of his head on adrenaline, Credence never would have thought that. The gods punished hubris.

No one had mentioned that Grindelwald was Gifted. He gestured at Credence, his hands glowing white, and Credence fell over screaming, every nerve in his body screaming with him like he’d been struck by lightning.

“Using your Gift during a fight is dishonorable,” Percival shouted angrily.

“Bah,” spat Grindelwald. “You Tortallans are so hung up on your honor. It makes you easy to kill.”

“You’ve got magic,” Credence said, rolling over onto his hands and knees. “That’s nice. I’ve got magic, too.” Credence had wild magic, like Newt, although his didn’t manifest with animals or anything found in nature. He was pretty much a one trick pony, although it was a damned impressive trick, if Credence said so himself.

He let the magic take him, his eyes leeching white while his body became insubstantial, like smoke. He curled his fingers into claws and leapt towards Grindelwald, laughing when Grindelwald’s sword passed right through him. Grindelwald couldn’t hurt him when he was like this, but Credence could hurt Grindelwald. He batted the Scanran’s sword out of his hands and pounced on him, slamming him to the ground and curling his clawed hands around Grindelwald’s throat.

“Yield,” he hissed, claws drawing blood. “Yield, damn you.”

There was nothing but hate on Grindelwald’s face. “I yield,” he snarled.

He would be trouble. Credence could see it in his eyes. For a second, he was tempted to drag his claws against Grindelwald’s throat anyway and spare them all future sorrow, and then Percival’s hand closed around the bit of smoke currently functioning as Credence’s shoulder.

“That’s enough, lad. You’ve won. Let him up,” Percival said quietly.

Percival could touch him, when Credence was his shadow-self. Credence didn’t know why he could, but Percival had always been able to. Credence let himself go human again, his nerves still twinging in pain from whatever Grindelwald had done.

Transforming always made Credence feel wobbly and weak. Jacob was already moving towards him, pulling a pastry out of his apron pocket. “Good fight,” he told Credence.

“Yes,” Percival said. “You did well.” He cupped Credence’s cheek in one hand, and for a second Credence thought that Percival might kiss him. Then Percival ruined the moment by ruffling his hair. “It won’t be long before we’re calling you Sir Credence,” he murmured.

Credence grinned, because Percival could hardly complain about a power imbalance between them if Credence had his shield. “I can’t wait,” he said.

One corner of Percival’s mouth quirked up, a there and gone wry smile that happened so fast Credence almost thought he’d imagined it. “Me neither.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credence's obscurus-esque fighting style is heavily influenced by the way [Emily fights in Dishonored 2,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l1jyUAtxh-8) with many thanks to [gingermaya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gingermaya/pseuds/gingermaya) for showing me the trailer.

**Author's Note:**

> I am also on [tumblr](https://terriblelifechoices.tumblr.com/) Come scream into the void about fandom with me.


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